


Walking on Sunshine

by ShebaRen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha/Peter, Alternative Universe - A/B/O Dynamics, College Student Peter, Friendship, Getting Together, Highschooler Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Scent Marking, Scott is a Bad Friend, Teenage Drama, omega/stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 05:38:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11822343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShebaRen/pseuds/ShebaRen
Summary: Stiles last week of sophomore year begins with a headache. Literally. It goes downhill from there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TriscuitsandSoup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriscuitsandSoup/gifts).



> Slightly late, but I hope you like it anyway! I wanted so badly to write a soulmate AU, but it still ended up as a/b/o, lol. Enjoy!
> 
> Many thanks to [red crate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/red_crate/pseuds/red_crate) for beta reading and a shout out to all the people on the steter discord who cheered me on and sprinted with me!

Stiles last week of sophomore year begins with a headache. Literally. It’s one of those days where you wake up with your head already hurting and you know that your day will only get worse. 

 

His head feels like someone took a knife to it, as he drags himself out of bed and into the bath to ready himself for the day. Blearily he stares into the mirror while he brushes his teeth, debating on wether or not he should do something with his hair. Another pulse of pain behind his eyes makes him wince and decide that the world can deal with his bed hair today. He can’t be bothered with more than basic functions today.

 

Stiles manages to eat a few bites of breakfast before taking a pill against the headache. Checking if his dad's cruiser is missing from their driveway, he groans when he sees it gone. That means he has to prepare dinner this evening, instead of falling into bed as soon as school’s out. But that can wait until the afternoon to worry about.

 

At least the medicine is helping slightly. The pain has lowered to an insistent but ignorable ache and he breathes a bit easier. Well, nobody will expect him to perform his best in their last week before the summer break. He checks to make sure that he has everything he needs for the day and gathers his keys.

 

When he tries to start Roscoe and the engine produces a painful crunching sound followed by silence he knows that this is truly the beginning of a bad, terrible, absolutely no good, day for him. Stiles rests his head on the steering wheel for a moment and thinks about just going back to bed. But he has too many missed days this year already and another one would definitely mean that the school will call his dad about it and he has zero to no interest in seeing his disappointed face today. 

 

With a sigh he makes himself text Scott that he will be late and to save him a seat, before he resigns himself to his fate and trudges to the next bus stop.

 

He hates riding the bus, not only because it’s  normally already packed to the brim with annoying loud kids when it arrives at his stop, but it always, ALWAYS, stinks. It is one of the reasons he loves his car so much, because how can one not be thankful of escaping that deathtrap of bad smells and loud noises? 

 

Because he’s so late, the bus is thankfully empty, only a handful other passengers, and he can sit for the fifteen minute drive it takes. Walking has made him slightly woozy and he plans on resting his eyes a bit, but the smell permeating the bus makes any thought of relaxation impossible. 

 

Every breath he takes smells like puke and alcohol and sweat. It makes him want to gag and he tries to take small, shallow breaths. It’s not helping. Even breathing through his mouth is pure torture, because he  _ swears _ he can taste the smells on his tongue, which, no. Just no. 

 

God, didn’t they clean this thing every once in awhile? He has met better smelling homeless people at the station! Stiles burrows his face in his sweater and tries to focus on the clean smell of his detergent. He flees as soon as the bus rolls to a stop in front of Beacon Hills High.

 

When he enters the school though, he realizes that he is truly fucked. He has no idea why today, nor why him, but it makes him hate everything, and especially high school. Because as soon as he’s set a foot into the school, his nose is assaulted with a miasma of smells. He gags.

 

Fuck, fuckity, fuck. It’s moments like these that make him wish he was born a beta like his dad. Because stinking public vehicles? Par for the course. Barely being able to breathe in school because of the smell? Not so much, which means that it’s his sense of smell that’s out of whack. Having a sensitive omega nose and being unable to control it because of fucking hormones sucks. Oversensitivity also means his heat isn’t far off. Great. Just, fucking great.

 

His willingness to sit in a closed room together with twentyfive teenagers who will be reeking has just plummeted, ranking somewhere around ‘kill me now’. 

 

* * *

  
  


Having made it to class by the skin of his teeth, Stiles is looking for Scott, hoping for a sympathetic ear for his woes. 

 

With a sinking feeling in his gut, he sees Scott sitting next to Allison. Their heads are tilted towards each other and they are talking, Allison giggling and Scott looking at her like she has hung the sun, the moon and the stars for him. There is no free seat anywhere near.

 

It’s not exactly new, this thing between them, which is somehow what makes it worse. Because Scott has made it his bad habit to forget everything around him in favour of Allison, including Stiles. There had been more than one occasion where Scott had trailed after Allison without a word, more lost puppy than fierce alpha, even though he and Stiles had had plans. 

 

He’s happy for Scott, he is - everyone can see that Allison is as hung up about him as he is about her - but there’s supposed to be a honeymoon phase that has to be over after some time, isn’t there? One would have thought three months would have been enough to not be joined at the hip for 24/7.

 

Stiles slumps onto the first available seat, which to his luck is next to Derek. Derek is one of the few Betas at school and more of the silent brooding type, which suits him fine today. He gives up concentrating on class after five minutes of futilely trying to ignore the canopy of smells and the headache that has decided to come back with a vengeance. Stiles groans and burrows his head in the crook of his arm in the hopes that it might make breathing slightly more bearable. 

 

Stiles has never heard him talk much outside of class, so he’s surprised when Derek asks him if everything’s alright. “You don’t look good,” he adds when Stiles is just looking at him in bafflement.

 

“Oversensitivity with a killer headache,” is what he says by way of explanation, head thunking back against the flesh of his arm. He closes his eyes and Derek seems to get the hint, not questioning him further.

He let’s Stiles be, for the remainder of the lesson and doesn’t try to engage him in any way. Stiles tries to feel bad for it, a bit, because if he were up to normal he would gladly grasp the opportunity to talk with Derek (he has seen his sarcastic eyebrow game, okay? There is no way that deep down Derek isn’t full of snark). 

But as it is, he’s glad to just wallow. Still breathing in his own smell, he tries to block everything else out. 

 

It’s only when Derek is gently shaking his shoulder that Stiles realizes that he had dozed off and the lesson is over. His headache has abated somewhat, but his nose is still as sensitive as before. “Ugh,” he groans and peels his face off the surface of the desk. 

 

“Sorry,” Derek murmurs softly as he awkwardly hovers at Stiles side, obviously waiting for him. This is slightly bizarre, because Derek and him had never been close or anything before and yet here he is. Hovering. 

 

Ugh. Stiles doesn’t want to deal with this day, this is hell. He looks around for Scott, because class is out and this, waiting for Stiles, is what he usually does. Or did. The classroom has already cleared out and they are the last ones with the teacher packing away his lesson material.

 

“No it’s okay,” Stiles waves Derek’s apology away, “thank you for waking me though.” He gathers his backpack and stands. Immediately he feels lightheaded and for a moment he has to stand there gripping the table, unable to move because he fears he’s going to fall down if he so much as thinks about taking a step. 

 

“-iles. Stiles?” 

 

“I’m okay.” He groans, though he most definitely is not. He just wants to lay down and not move for the rest of the day. If the thought of walking to and getting on the bus didn’t make him so nauseous, he would do that and fuck the school calling his dad.

His head is pounding again and breathing has become a chore. Small flat breaths make it bearable, but only just. He’s dimly aware of the hand on his arm steering him out of the classroom and through the hallways to the outside.

 

The fresh air almost hurts, it feels so good. He takes large gulping lungfuls until he feels like he can think again. They’re sitting on the stairs in front of the big entrance and around them the schoolyard is devoid of any children. Next class has to have already begun, but at this point Stiles doesn’t even care anymore.

“Thanks,” he says to Derek, who is looking worried. Or well, slightly constipated, but Stiles guesses that is his worried face, because frankly he doesn’t know the guy enough to interpret his facial expressions yet.

 

Derek shrugs but doesn’t meet his eyes while he fiddles with a soda bottle in his hands. “It’s okay. Paige told me how, um, how it can get to be too much. Sometimes. Here, you should drink something,” he says and thrusts the bottle in Stiles hands.

 

“Oh. Um…” For a moment he has no idea who Derek is talking about before he faintly remembers the cute omega girl that hangs around Derek fairly often. Maybe she’s his girlfriend? He fumbles with the cap, opening it, when the bottle in this hands explodes. 

Sticky liquid is everywhere. His t-shirt is drenched and so are his shorts. Fuck.

 

“Fuck.” He says aloud and then - breaks out in tears.

 

“Um…” Derek says, at a loss of words. 

 

Stiles is outright sobbing and he can’t stop. It’s all shuddering gasps, tears and snot. He’s an ugly crier, okay? He has never been so mortified in his life, he has no idea why he’s like this. It’s just, too much of everything.  

 

“I’m so - sorry,” he warbles, “I have - I have no idea whyyy -”

 

“No, it’s, um, it’s okay.” Derek looks so awkward as he says that, and Stiles is overcome with a wave of guilt. He’s such a mess and Derek was just, so nice to him. Derek deserves all the nice things in his life, and he tells him as much between another bout of tears.

 

Derek shrugs again, still looking uncomfortable, which is better than him leaving or something. Stiles is glad.

 

“Hey, do you want to call your dad to get you?” Derek asks when Stiles sobs have subsided and the tears are only occasionally trickling down his cheeks.

 

Stiles nods, feeling miserable. Crying has only made his head hurt worse and his face feels raw from the tears. His t-shirt is clinging wetly, chafing uncomfortably against his skin. Derek helps him search his bag for his phone and waits patiently while he dials his dad.

 

He’s still sniffling a bit when his dad answers his call. 

 

“Stiles, is everything alright?” he asks, but he sounds distracted.

 

“Hi dad,” Stiles manages, trying to sound more chipper than he feels “I’m okay, though I don’t feel good. Roscoe broke down this morning, do you think you could get me from school?”

 

His dad sighs and it sounds tinny over the phone speaker. “This is not one of your schemes to get out of school, is it Stiles? I know you’re bored, but you shouldn’t skip so often, you know that.”

 

“Yes, I know, but - “ Stiles tries, but his dad interrupts him. “Sorry Siles, there’s a big emergency on the bypass road - If you’re not well, you can go home, but I’m sorry, I can’t get you. Are you okay to take the bus?”

 

Stiles can hear Officer Audrey in the background, giving commands to the deputies on duty right now. He bites his lips and he can feel another round of tears well up.

 

“Uh, no - yes dad, it’s fine. Could you maybe call the school to let them know-?”

 

“I’ll tell Audrey to call them. Sorry Stiles, I have to go now. Take care of yourself, yeah?”

 

“Yeah dad, will do. Be safe.”

 

Stiles rests his head on his knees. He can’t catch a break today, can he? God. 

 

“Hey,” Derek knocks their shoulders together briefly, “what did your dad say?”

 

Stiles smushes his face into his legs in an approximation of a headshake. “Have to take the bus,” he mumbles, not looking up.

 

Derek hums thoughtfully and for some reason he leans back into Stiles’ side. He doesn’t say anything for a moment. The warm line of his body is a comfort and Stiles doesn’t move away. He doesn’t let himself think of why it’s not Scott by his side (because it should be, they have been best friends since third grade. And best friends know when something is up).

 

(Bros before hoes, man. Bros before hoes.)

 

When he’s back to pathetic sniffling from, like, niagara falls grade waterworks, he straightens up, somewhat. Derek has his own phone in hand and is fiddling with it. When he realizes that Stiles is looking at him, he gives a tentative smile.

 

It’s a little wobbly, but Stiles manages to smile back. He gives his face another rubdown with the hem of his still wet t-shirt. “I should probably change into something more appropriate for the bus, huh?” But then he remembers that it’s the last week of the school year, which means his locker is already all cleared out. So, no gym clothes to change into. “Fuck.” 

 

“What is it?” Derek asks.

 

Stiles tells him, and then he has to laugh somewhat hysterically. “What even is my life today?” He’s laughing so hard he is wheezing and then there are more tears running down his face and he’s laughing and crying at the same time. “I’m such a mess,” he sighs at last when he has calmed down somewhat.

 

Derek looks like he has no idea what to do with him. Stiles knows the feeling. But then he perks up with a determined tilt to his eyebrows.”I’ve got my lacrosse gear in my locker. If you, umm, if you want to change.” The tips of his ears are turning red and he won’t meet Stiles’ eyes. And that’s - 

 

“Are you honestly hitting on me right now? Is this the beta way of compensating for scent marking?!?” Stiles squeaks and can feel himself blushing even though he’s one hundred percent sure that Derek is not, but who knows, what’s one more crazy thing today-

 

Derek’s eyes widen. “What?? No! I would never, I’ve got - nevermind.” he says and looks away. He looks so affronted by the accusation that Stiles can’t decide if he should laugh or be disappointed. But Stiles is also one hundred percent sure that Derek was going to say ‘I’ve got a girlfriend’, so Stiles was totally right about Derek and the Omega girl earlier and that’s still a win in his book. He needs a few of those, today.

 

“It’s alright, I believe you,” he says with a small grin, ”and I would really like to, but I don’t think I can manage to go back in there.” He waves at the building behind him. “And no offense, but I don’t think smelly Lacrosse gear would help either, dude.”

 

“It’s not smelly. My mom makes me wash it after every practice,” Derek says with a scowl. “And don’t call me dude,” he adds. 

 

“Okay, okay.” Stiles laughs. 

 

Derek nods and stands up. “Wait here, I’ll get my shirt for you,” he says and jogs up the stairs, vanishing into the school.

 

Waiting gives Stiles’ headache time to remind him of its existence. Bantering with Derek has distracted him a bit, but now it’s back with a vengeance. At least the amount of smells he has to breathe in is not as overwhelming out here. 

 

It feels like a small eternity until Derek is back.

 

“Here,” he says and hands him his shirt. Stiles grabs it with a murmured ‘thanks’. Experimentally he gives it a whiff and is relieved to find that Derek had told him the truth; It only smells of clean detergent and Derek’s base scent, which is as inoffensive as any Beta’s.

 

Though when he makes to discard his soddy t-shirt it is Derek’s turn to squeak. “Wait, what are you doing?!? You can’t - right now and here - ,” he sputters and turns his back to Stiles in an futile effort to grant him some modesty. 

 

Stiles scoffs. “Dude. You wish.” In quick motions he gets his shirt off and puts Derek’s Lacrosse jersey on. Covered by the slightly too large shirt he proceeds to wriggle out of his damp undershirt. Layers - he had them. He rolls his eyes at the way that Derek’s neck betrays his embarrassment by glowing red with a blush, even though the motion hurts. They still feel raw and itchy from crying so much. 

 

“You can turn around now,” he tells Derek. He want to ask him if he wants to walk with Stiles to the bus stop, because honestly? He doesn’t want to be alone right now. He’s still not feeling one hundred percent and Derek has been surprisingly nice so far.

 

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by the ding of a text message. Confused he looks for his phone. Maybe Scott realized that Stiles wasn’t coming back? But no, the screen is empty when he looks. Frowning he looks up, and oh, yeah he forgot that Derek had his phone out earlier too. He’s looking at it now. 

 

Stiles takes the moment to pick up the soda bottle that has been lying forgotten and throw it into the nearby waste bin. He still feels sluggish, but it’s not as bad as in the classroom and he thankfully doesn’t do a repeat of the fainting maiden routine, so all is good. The strange fabric of Derek’s jersey feels slightly scratchy against his bare skin, but he can deal. Truthfully, all he wants right now is lay down in his bed and snuggle up on all the blankets until his head stops hurting and he can dial his nose down to normal beta levels. 

 

When he gets back to Derek’s side, the beta has the same determined look on his face he had earlier when he offered Stiles his shirt. “I know you wanted to take the bus, but I could give you a lift if you want.”

 

“You’ve got a car?” Stiles asks. 

 

“No.” Derek scowls, looking to the side and back at Stiles again. “I asked my uncle if he could drive us.”

 

Stiles could cry in relief. “Really? You have no idea what I would do to not have to use the bus.”

 

Derek nods. Another  _ ping _ makes him look at his phone again. “He’ll be here in five minutes.”

 

They sit together in silence, waiting for Derek’s uncle. It makes Stiles’ mind drift and he sinks into a daze. Derek has to shake his shoulder to rouse him and when he stands up, the sense of vertigo is back. He sways on his feet and when Derek asks him something, it doesn’t even register to him.

 

Vaguely he notices Derek taking his elbow and steering him slowly towards the car that is idling at the curb, but he feels pretty out of it by the time he fumbles for the seat belt. He sits in the back, and normally he would protest, because he hates sitting in the back - there’s never enough room for his legs - but he can’t muster up the energy. He rests his head against the headrest and closes his eyes. That feels really good. The car smells nice, like new leather and something else that he can’t quite identify, and he’s so, so glad to have taken Derek up on his offer. This is ten times better than the bus.

 

* * *

 

The next time he’s conscious again, he is lying on the couch in his living room under the soft woolen blanket that is normally draped over the arm of his dad’s armchair. 

 

Disoriented he looks at the clock of the DVD player. It’s already four in the afternoon. He has no recollection of how he got here and he hopes that nobody had to carry him. He grimaces. 

 

At least his headache has receded to a dull ache that only spikes when he moves too fast which he notices when he sits up. Somebody left a glass of water and a couple of painkillers on the table for him. Stiles swallows them down gratefully. It also helps him to wake up all the way. His bladder decides that now is also a good time to make itself known and he heaves himself up from the couch to make a trip to the bathroom. He takes the opportunity to change into something more comfy than his shorts and out of Derek’s jersey. 

 

After that, he looks for his schoolbag, and more importantly his phone. He finds both next to the couch, where his slightly damp t-shirt is lying, folded. He checks his phone and sees that he’s got two new messages. Opening the app he sees that one message is from Scott, the other is from an unknown number. 

 

Feeling uncharitable towards Scott he opens the unknown message first.

 

**Hey, this is derek! Sorry I had to go through your stuff to find your address but you were knocked out cold. Text me back when you see this I want to make sure you’re ok**

 

Stiles winces as he reads the text. Well done Stiles, passing out in barely known classmate’s cars. Well, no matter - he knows now what a huge marshmallow Derek is under that stoic exterior. That serious eyebrow game is just a front to fool all the disbelievers.

 

Snickering to himself, he texts a quick reply to assure Derek that he’s better now and opens Scott’s message.

 

**where r u??? i thought we wanted to hang out after school. Not cool man!!! driving home now, meet there?**

 

He stares incredulous at his phone. Is Scott even for real? The only time he remembers to ask after Stiles is when school’s out? Honestly? That hurts. Lips pressed together he reads the rest.

 

**ok im home and ur not here?**

 

**stiles?**

 

**nvm allisons come over n moms not home, sooooo... i hope ur not mad, but ur not texting and i have no idea if ur still coming over, but i guess not?**

 

**are u mad i didnt save u a seat in class or y r u not texting?**

 

His fingers hover over the display, unsure whether he should write back or not, but after a few seconds he releases his breath with a deep sigh and makes himself exit the chat. Thinking about it makes him want to punch Scott and curl up on the couch again at the same time. 

 

Is this really how it is? Ignoring him at school, no indication that Scott even registered the fact that Stiles wasn’t fine? But who was he kidding, since Scott and Allison got together, Stiles had been at most an afterthought for Scott. He can feel his eyes begin to ache again at the thought. He scrubs his hands over his face and forces himself not to think about it. 

 

Instead he starts making dinner. He hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast and he’s ravenous. Fortunately they have everything for a casserole. A look at the clock tells him that he should be finished in time for his dad to be home. With a sigh he starts gathering utensils.

 

* * *

 

Stiles misses the rest of the week due to his heat, which hits the the next day, as he had predicted. He can’t really say that he’s sorry for it, even though his heats are always a miserable affair for him. He is kind of glad that he doesn’t have to see Scott for a while. 

He’d decided to ignore Scott’s messages. Though Scott hadn’t written again either, so. He doesn’t seem to miss Stiles much. Stiles tries not to feel too bitter about it, but he doesn’t quite succeed. 

 

What he does, though, as soon as he’s feeling better, is ask Derek for his address. He wants to return his jersey and to say thank you for getting him home the day he wasn’t feeling well.

 

He bakes muffins in preparation, because he figures that everyone likes muffins, right? Can’t go too wrong with that as a ‘thank you.’ 

 

“Why are you baking,” his dad asks him with a weary expression, “this is not another ten step plan to woo someone, is it?” 

He’s just arrived home from a night shift and Stiles wants to believe that  _ that _ is the reason for his face and not his unfortunate history of wooing proficiency. 

 

Just because the last two times he had a crush went disastrous doesn’t mean that all his plans are going to fail spectacularly and with maximum embarrassment for all involved, including innocent bystanders. 

 

“No, just a thank you gift for Derek, the classmate who helped me get home on Monday,” he says and adds under his breath “he’s got a girlfriend already,” hoping his dad won’t hear. He’s staring determinedly at everything but his dad and tries to ignore how hot his face feels. 

 

No such luck apparently.

 

“I, uh, wouldn’t have thought I would ever say this, but - you don’t have to give up on your feelings just because the other person is with someone. You never know if they might not -” 

“Oh my god, dad! Stop, stop talking, oh my god,” Stiles yelps, whipping around to stare at his dad. “Was this you trying to be encouraging? Dad, no. Just. No.” He shakes his head, wide eyed. The Sheriff winces, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “Just trying to fulfill my duty as an supportive parent,” he says ruefully.

 

Stiles has to smile at that. “You’re doing great, dad. Thank you.” He gives him a quick thumbs up, though he adds with a wince, “Just, I hope you don’t tell kids that homewrecking is an option they could pursue in your annual safe, sane and consent seminar.”

 

His dad snorts.

 

Before Stiles can say anything else though, he catches sight of the clock. “Shit!”, he hisses and jerks into motion, because he’s overdue to take the muffins out of the oven.

 

They turn out okay, if a bit too dark around the edges. Stiles frets a moment or two if he should toss them out and try for a seconds batch. With a headshake he decides to just coat them with a nice layer of chocolate and hope they won’t taste too burnt.

 

* * *

 

 

His Jeep is still not running, so Stiles takes the bus to the preserve in the afternoon, walking the rest of the way to the Hale house that is lying a good bit out of the way. It’s a hot day, sun out in full force, but it’s the perfect temperature in the shade of the large trees framing the small beaten street. Stiles takes his time, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere, and it feels almost too soon when he sees the house and knocks at the door.

 

It’s not Derek, nor Mrs. Hale, who answers the door, as Stiles might have expected, but a young man in his early twenties.

 

“Oh, hey. Stiles, right? Come in,” he says with a smirk. He holds a water bottle in the hand that is not holding the door open and the form fitting shirt he’s wearing is plastered to his torso with sweat. Stiles may have been a bit too distracted by the sight to register his words. When he could eventually drag his eyes away from the glistening expanse of neck on display and up to the stranger’s face, the smirk has grown wider.

 

Stiles can’t help but notice that his eyes are very blue.

 

Hot damn.

 

Then he registers that the guy is waiting for him to say or do something. He blushes furiously at being caught staring. “Yes! Stiles, yep, that’s me. Hi!” He babbles embarrassed. “I’m here for Derek?”, he finishes weakly.

 

He has the feeling that he’s being laughed at, but the door is opened further in invitation. “I’m Peter.” Peter introduces himself and repeats his invitation to come in, though he doesn’t so much as move an inch. Stiles has to maneuver a bit with the box of muffins and still he ends up almost chest to chest with the unfairly attractive guy, almost dropping it.

 

Taking a breath to ask for a bit more space he gets a whiff of the mix of aftershave and sweat and underlying all that unmistakably the scent of   _ alpha _ . 

He tries very hard not to sniff too obviously, but. God. Good looking  _ and _ good smelling. He wants to whimper. Some people get all the good genes.

 

Well, good looking, good smelling, but also an asshole, he thinks when Peter didn’t bother to give him a hand, when he was so obviously struggling with his load.

“Do you mind?” Stiles huffs. The asshole snorts, amusement written all over his face. But he takes a small step back and gestures with the water bottle to the  back of the house. “Derek’s through here, out in the back.” He let’s the front door close behind them and begins walking, obviously expecting Stiles to follow him. With another huff Stiles does just that. 

 

No one has to know that it’s not the interior design he’s admiring for the next few minutes.

 

As distracted as he is, though, he notices that the house is huge. When they exit through the back door into the frankly enormous yard, Stiles can see that the property is even bigger than what he expected. A smaller building, not visible from the street, is nestled behind the main house, obviously also lived in. 

 

Peter leads him to a pavilion, where he can see two figures sitting in the shade. One is Derek, the second is his cute omega friend slash girlfriend. 

Peter calls Derek’s name. “I’ve got something for you!” 

 

Derek scowls when he sees Peter. “What do you want.”

 

“Just showing your delightfully cute friend the way.” Peter tsks. 

 

Seeing Stiles, Derek and the girl perk right up. “Hi! Stiles, right? I’m Paige,” she introduces herself with a smile. She seems nice, Stiles thinks as he smiles back and waves awkwardly with his free hand.

 

“So what’s in the box?” Peter asks, curious. He’s leaning over Stiles’ shoulder, much nearer now. He tries to not let it fluster him, but it’s hard to ignore the way the alpha is crowding into his personal space.

 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Derek scowls at Peter, while Paige motions for Stiles to sit down. 

Sliding onto one of the free seats on the bench, he shows them the box and the jersey. “I wanted to say thank you, for, you know, getting me home in one piece. I made muffins, I hope you like chocolate.”

 

“They look delicious,” Peter tells him - and when did he sit down next to him? This is unfair, how could Stiles be expected to function like a normal human being, when such a piece of perfection was close enough to touch? It made him nervous. He threw a helpless look at Paige and Derek, but they were looking as clueless as he felt. 

 

“Uh, well then. You want some?” Stiles asks unsure. An error, because Peter  _ smiles _ at him. Was it always this warm out here, or is that just him? He has to look away and repress the urge to fan himself like a swooning maiden.

 

Nudging the box with the edibles towards the others he’s relieved by the sight of everyone enjoying the muffins. Even Derek’s obvious distaste of Peter’s presence is delegated to the back burner for a few precious minutes. 

 

After that though, Peter says his goodbye, probably because Derek is shooting him increasingly dark looks. Before he goes he swipes another two muffins from the box with a wink to Stiles, ignoring Derek and Paige’s protest. Stiles hopes he’s not too obvious at watching him go.

 

“Sorry for my uncle.” Derek glowers at the severely diminished contents of the box. Stiles tries not to gape. “Peter’s your uncle?!” 

 

“Don’t ask.”

 

“Right.” Stiles says, dubious.

 

Paige snorts. “Yes, he’s hot as burning, but personality wise I wouldn’t touch that with a ten foot pole. Though he doesn’t bother us like this, normally. That was strange.”

 

“I don’t know, I could ignore a lot for those arms.” Stiles eyes glaze a bit over at the thought.

“He has nice eyes, I guess,” Paige says thoughtfully and Stiles nods.

 

“Stop talking about Peter like that. That’s disgusting.” Derek scowls at them both now.

 

Paige laughs at him, but gives him a small peck on the lips in apology. Stiles feels a little flare of jealousy at the display of affection. Not because he likes Derek that way, but because he wants something like that too. But he grins and apologizes too. A thought strikes him. “Wait, was he the one who drove me home that day-?”

 

Derek gives him a strange look and nods, “Yes?”

 

“Oh my god, I can’t believe he saw me like that! And I didn’t even say thank you,” he groans and hides his face in his hands.

 

Derek shrugs unconcerned. “He got the muffins, didn’t he?”

 

There’s that, at least. He just has to say a properly thank you the next time he sees the Alpha. “Right. Hey, before I go, could you tell me if we got any last minute summer assignments last week?” 

 

Derek’s eyebrows draw together. “You didn’t ask Scott?” 

 

“Nah. Didn’t think about it until now,” he lies and hopes they won’t ask more. Everyone knows that he only hangs out with Scott and he doesn’t want to sound like a jerk, talking about his problems with Scott when he doesn’t even know what he wants to say to him. 

 

“We got an essay for the summer reading in english lit and a few sets of problems to solve for math, but that’s it.” Derek tells him. 

 

“That doesn’t sound too bad. Text me the details later?”

 

“Sure.” Derek nods.

 

“Alright, thanks.” Stiles pats down his pockets to make sure he has everything he needs and rises from his seat.

 

“Wait, you’re going already?” Paige looks surprised. “Uh, yes?” Stiles is confused. 

 

“But what about the muffins?”

 

“There are for you. You can eat them.” He eyes the box. “Or what’s left of them.”

“You should stay and eat them with us together, after the effort you put into them.”

Stiles looks at them, unsure. Paige looks hopeful and Derek is nodding, which is how he gets roped into hanging out with them. 

 

They spend the afternoon talking - or at least Stiles and Paige do. Derek seems content to just listen and join in occasionally. It’s nice to just laze around in the shade, and the only strange thing about it is how it isn’t strange at all. Derek and Paige are together, but Stiles doesn’t have the feeling of crashing their date. They are snuggled together on their bench and sometimes they thread their fingers through each others, but that’s it. 

 

The time flies, and before he knows it they are sitting in the steadily growing darkness. They only realize how late it really is, when Stiles’ phone vibrates with a text message and he has to squint his eyes at the glare of the screen to read.

 

**It’s pretty late. I want you home in half an hour - if you aren’t we are going to talk about more than just responsible texting. You're lucky this isn't a school night, son. Dad**

 

Stiles shoots up out of his seat, cursing. “Oh no, nononoo, fuck.” Derek and Paige look alarmed at his outburst and wince in sympathy when he tells them the reason. “We’ll go with you to the bus stop,” Derek says, and then they have to hurry in order to make it, because the bus comes in 5 minutes and the next one doesn’t come for another hour. 

 

Of course they don’t make it. 

 

Whoever said public transportation was reliable hadn't seen the wretched bus take the corner two minutes early, and miss them entirely. Stiles groans at the sight, wheezing from running and holding his sides. “My dad is going to ground me. Worse, he’s going to make me volunteer at the station for babysitting.”

 

“That bad, huh?” Paige laughs, though she isn’t in a much better condition than him. Derek, the jerk, doesn’t even look winded.

 

“Deputy Harrish has triplets,” Stiles says darkly, a shiver running down his back at the thought. 

 

“What do we do now, though?” Derek asks. “And I won’t let you walk the entire way in the dark, alone,” he adds with a look. Stiles snaps his mouth shut. For a moment they stand there in silence, thinking. 

The sound of tires on gravel and the headlights of a car illuminating their surroundings makes them look up. A car comes to a stop next to them and for a moment Stiles has the entire “stranger-danger” protocol his dad drilled into him by the time he was three running through his head. Then the driver’s window rolls down and reveals Peter, smirking at them.

 

“Going somewhere?”

 

Derek has a calculating look on his face. “If you take Stiles with you into town and get him home before eleven, what do you want in return?” 

 

Peter contemplates the offer for a moment, letting his eyes wander over each of them. He spares Stiles for last, and he swears he can feel Peter’s gaze roam down his body. Self-consciously, he straightens up a bit. 

 

“Mmh. I’m sure I can think of something with a bit of time. Why don’t we say you owe me one, for now?”  He smiles at Derek, a smug little thing curling around the corners of his mouth and-

 

Stiles shouldn’t want to touch Peter. Shouldn’t wonder what it would feel like to slide his fingers over those lips, what that rough stubble would feel like against his own skin. 

 

God, he’s so fucked in the head. Why can’t he have a crush like normal people? Instead he has these instant moments of attraction and bam, that’s it for the foreseeable future. And it’s always, always, on people that would never ever think twice about dating someone like Stiles.

 

“Okay.”

 

Stiles whips his head around to stare at Derek and grip his arm. “What? You don’t have to, I’ll just call - someone to come get me.” For a second he had wanted to say ‘call Scott’, but he changes his mind. He doesn’t even know if Scott would have come when he asked, at this point of time. Maybe as long as Allison wasn’t with him and gave him an excuse not to.

 

“No, it’s alright. Peter might be an ass, but he’s okay most of the time.”

 

“Just text us to let us know when you’re home, or else I’ll worry,” Paige adds, though she hastens to reassure Stiles when he sees his alarmed face at her words: “Not because of him. But to make sure you don’t have to babysit for the rest of the summer, because of us.” She bites her lip and looks pleadingly at him.

 

Stiles sighs. “Okay.” He hugs them both goodbye, before he goes around the car to climb onto the front seat. “Wait a sec”, he says to Peter before he can start driving. He takes his phone a sends a quick text to his dad: 

 

**Derek’s uncle is driving me home, missed the bus.**

 

Only then he gives his okay to go. Derek and Paige wave, and he twists in his seat to wave back until he can’t see them anymore in the darkness.

 

Peter’s snort remind him of his presence, and Stiles leans back in his seat to look at the street and Peter. “What?”

 

“Nothing. Just having a feeling of deja-vu, what with picking up high schoolers when I should have better things to do.”

 

Stiles grins delighted, all his self conscious thoughts vanished in the face of such a good possible pun. “Oh, so you have to resort to picking up high schoolers from the side of the road, because you can't get anyone else?“

 

“I assure you, I can pick up just fine,“ Peter retorts and it's accompanied by such an exaggerated leer that he can't help but laugh. 

“But seriously, I wanted to say thank you to you too, for helping Derek get me home,” he says when he’s calmed down again.

 

“I’m not a monster, Stiles. Teasing Derek is fun, but it was no hardship to get you that day and neither is this. I like you.” Peter sounds genuine, is the thing. Fortunately they arrive at his house just then and he’s saved from having to reply. Instead he gets to say goodbye and then he’s already searching for his keys.

 

Stiles gets his dad’s Disappointed Look™ upon entering the house, even though he has five minutes to spare until the allotted half an hour runs out. He sighs and resigns himself to a lecture. Instead his dad just shakes his head and rubs his eyes. “I have a feeling you are getting too old for my lectures to have any effect on you.” He sounds tired.

 

Stiles tries to protest, but his dad raises his hand, stopping him. “I didn’t have to worry this much before, because I could count on you and Scott to be together whenever you got in trouble. And I know that the two of you have some problems right now, but that just means you have to tell me now, when you stay out late.”

 

“But you knew I was with Derek, you had no reason to worry,” Stiles says with a scowl and crosses his arms.

 

“Derek Hale who you have never spent time with, who lives on the other side of town, right on the edge to the preserve and who you had to take the bus to get to.” His dad sighs. “Stiles, you are an omega. It was getting dark. I’m the sheriff and most importantly, I’m your father. It is my job to worry about you”

 

Looking to the side, Stiles presses his lips together and doesn’t say anything. 

 

His dad rubs his hand over his face again. “Let’s just agree that you’ll be home by eleven and that you’ll always text when you are on your way home, okay?”

 

Stiles nods his head unhappily. “But no babysitting, right?” he wants to make sure.

 

“No babysitting. You’re okay,” his dad confirms with a smile and draws him in a half-hug. 

 

* * *

 

The next two weeks are very different from Stiles’ previous summers. Before, he would be hanging out with Scott constantly, playing video games or hanging around the arcade. They would alternate between their homes, staying until either parent had enough of them and sent them packing.

 

But he still has not written Scott back, despite the fact that there are several unopened texts from him. Tthough he wouldn’t outright say that he is avoiding Scott…. That’s exactly what he is doing. When he is at home on his computer, he makes sure to be invisible on all his messengers and if he sees Scott come online in a game, he quits the game immediately. It’s frustrating and he probably couldn’t do this indefinitely, but he feels somewhat guilty enjoying his summer without Scott.

 

Now he has Derek and Paige who invite him to the Hale house to spend his time with them. Stiles has never done his summer assignments this early into the summer. And it’s not like he’s third wheeling them - more often than not there’s one of Derek’s sisters around when they hang out at the house (and to Derek's great displeasure, Peter is there more often than not). There’s also a steady stream of assorted relatives in and out of the house, some of which have brought little kids that had to be spontaneously babysat. 

 

Stiles has never been around so many people in such a short amount of time before. His family has always been small, with a set of grandparents in Poland with whom he maybe exchanges twenty words in a year, maximum. His mother’s side of the family had broken contact completely after her death and even before then they had been rare figures in his life.

 

When they’re not spending their time at the Hale house, they wander through the preserve and splash around the nearby stream to cool down. 

 

Today Paige managed to talk them into going shopping.

 

“You definitely need a need wardrobe.” She’d said to Stiles, tugging at his plaid shirt.

 

“What do you mean? I do not!” He protested. “Well, maybe I need a few new t-shirts,” he’d admitted. Derek only grunted when asked, so they went to the mall.

 

He’s never liked shopping for clothes much – every brand has its own measurement for the same size and it gets tiring to figure out the right one again and again. So he’s made it a habit to take the first thing he likes that fits and buy it in different colors. That’s what he’s planning to do this time too, when they stumble upon Peter, who is exiting a small bookstore right in that moment. Stiles can’t help but notice that he’s wearing another form fitting t-shirt today that makes his biceps look indecent. He bites his lips at the sight.

 

“Oh, hello Derek, Paige. And Stiles.” Peter greets them with a smirk and – yes, that was undoubtedly a wink in Stiles direction. He can feel his face flush. Urgh. Next to him, Derek rolls his eyes. “Peter. If I didn’t know how little you care about us, I would ask if you are stalking us.”   
  
“Never, dear nephew.” Peter says with an emphasis on their familial relation that he knows will rile Derek up. “At least not you. You and Paige are old news by now, boring and plain with how cute you are together. Stiles here, on the other hand…” He lets the sentence hang there and winks at him again.

 

Stiles scoffs at his antics, though he can't suppress the flutter of his heart. Paige giggles, the traitor.   
  


* * *

  
  
"You should wear something more form-fitting," a voice purrs into his ear and Stiles flinches. He hadn't heard Peter come up. Somehow the Alpha had wormed his way into their plans for the afternoon. He’s tagging along on their shopping trip, ruining all of Stiles plans of an easy in and out mission regarding his shirts.

 

"I like my shirts. They are comfy!" He looks at the Alpha in protest.     
  
But Peter is busy looking through the racks, ignoring his pout. "Here, try this on," he says and pushes a dark blue t-shirt in his hands. Stiles looks at it. "This is two sizes too small." He tries to give it back, but Peter won't take it, and he hangs it back. Two minutes and a bit of squabbling later he finds himself in a fitting room, trying the shirt on, with two more waiting for him in Peter's hands.   
  
With a scowl he wonders where Derek and Paige have vanished to, as he slips the t-shirt on. If they where Allison and Scott, he would think they were off making out somewhere. Considering it is Paige, she was probably trying try to make Derek buy a leather jacket again. She had been gushing about it and how it would look on him every chance she had in the last week.

 

Which is why he’s stuck with Peter and his crusade to dress Stiles in clothes in sizes suited for grade school students. The t-shirt he’s now wearing is basically painted on, that's how small it is. The fabric feels scratchy on his skin. 

 

“I don’t like it,” he grumbles. 

“Well, don’t just talk, show me,” Peter says impatiently from behind the curtain. With a put upon sigh Stiles pushes the curtain to the side and steps out of the stall.

 

He doesn’t know what he should have expected, but the look Peter gives him is scorching in its intensity. He swallows with a suddenly dry throat as his eyes (blue, blue,  _ blue _ , how can someone have such beautiful eyes? Stiles has never wanted to just stare at someone's eyes and get lost in them so much as he does with Peter’s) roam over the planes of Stiles’ chest. 

The thin fabric of the shirt hides nothing and he feels self-conscious all of a sudden, wanting to do something to hide his soft and pudgy belly from the fit alpha. The silence stretches a moment too long to be comfortable and he clears his throat, scratching where the collar meets his skin at his throat. He can’t meet Peter’s gaze when he asks “So, what’s the verdict?”

Peter makes an aborted motion with his hands, before he seems to reign himself in. 

 

“Simply divine, Stiles. I was right, you have nothing to hide and everything to show off,” he purrs. It makes Stiles looks up and promptly blushes. Peter looks  _ hungry _ . 

The alpha crowds closer to Stiles, raising his hands to caress the teen’s neck. Stiles’ heart is racing and he is blushing so hard that he can’t think past the feel of Peter’s hands on his skin and the heat of his body, not quite touching but close enough. 

 

“You should take it off now, though,” Peter murmurs and Stiles eyes are drawn to his lips, when the words register. “What?!?” he asks incredulous, voice rising. His hands snap up and he pushes the alpha away. Peter goes willingly, taking a step back with a confused frown. 

 

“What?” he asks, before it dawns on him how his words must have sounded to Stiles. He chuckles. “Oh no. I meant because it irritates your skin.” He gestures to his neck.

 

Stiles cranes his head to look in the mirror, where he can see that there is indeed a rash spreading on his skin where the fabric lies and he had unconsciously scratched. “Uh, right. Sorry.” He makes a gesture towards the stall, saying: “I’ll just. Yeah.”, and flees behind the curtain, where he takes a moment to calm his still racing heart and change back into his own comfortable shirt.

 

After that, he tries to keep his distance from Peter for a while and draws Derek and Paige into conversation to cover his unease. Peter’s uncharacteristically silent as well and wears a contemplative look for the rest of the trip. Derek and Paige though seem to sense that something’s up. Derek takes him aside while Paige is distracting Peter with a demand to buy them ice cream. 

 

“Look, I know my uncle and how he can be. If he’s said or did anything inappropriate back there -” He begins, serious. Stiles takes his arm to interrupt him. “No!” he says with a bit more force than necessary, judging by Derek’s taken aback expression, and repeats slightly calmer, “No, that’s not - look, Peter’s hot and funny in an assholish way, and I like him, so it’s… It’s not unwelcome, is what I’m saying.” He takes a breath, blushing again, and though it’s hard, he forces himself to look Derek into the eye after he’d just basically told him that he has a crush on his uncle. His hot, only a few years older, alpha uncle, but uncle nonetheless.

 

Derek’s eyebrows are judging him, but he looks concerned still, instead of disgusted and Stiles exhales. He’s jittery with nerves suddenly now that he’s admitted out loud what he didn’t even want to think about until this moment. “It was just a bit too much at once and I had to, I don’t know, think about it for a moment. If this, his interest, is, you know, real. There’s never been....” He trails off, unsure how to say it. Someone who was honestly interested in him? Someone who wasn’t put off by his being? Someone who looked at him like he was something worth looking at?

 

But Derek nods like he understands what Stiles is trying to say, when Stiles sees his gaze darting away to Paige for a moment and back again, he thinks that maybe he does. 

 

The moment is broken when Paige and Peter return, with two ice cream cones each. While he eats his sticky treat, Stiles decides he will make an effort to include Peter in his ramblings; hopefully he hasn't ruined things yet. He succeeds, as Peter is back to lightly teasing him, though he seems to keep his flirting deliberately light.

 

Between them Derek and Paige exchange a look.

 

* * *

 

Peter is nice enough to take them home later. They are exhausted from shopping and visibly drooping, dragging their feet as they walk through the stores. The drive is fun - Peter and he are teasing Derek, because Paige had indeed managed to talk him into buying the leather jacket. Coupled with his rather silent nature and penchant to stare gloomily at nothing when thinking, made him look like the main protagonist in a supernatural teenage romance.

 

Stiles’ good mood vanishes though, when he sees what is waiting for him on the front porch of his home. Or rather who: It’s Scott, sitting on the front steps.

 

Derek and Paige see him too and fall silent. Noticing, Peter looks at Stiles questioningly. “Friend of yours?”

 

“Scott McCall.” Stiles sighs. “He’s my best friend. Or was? I don’t know yet.”

 

“You want me to talk to him? Tell him to go away?” Peter’s tone is casual but there’s an underlying bite to it. He’s looking at Scott when he asks and his eyes are sharp, alert. An Alpha ready to spring into action protecting what is his, Stiles realizes with a start. The thought makes his heart do a funny little thing. 

 

But. “As tempting as that thought is I think I have to do this myself. This is a conversation that’s long overdue.” 

 

Peter’s now looking at him. Once again Stiles is amazed at the intensity reflected in his eyes. It’s as if he forgets every time he’s not looking at them and when he does, even the tiniest glimpse steals his breath away. He wants to touch Peter, reassure him, prove himself capable.  _ Be a good mate.  _

 

A rustle from the backseat breaks the moment and Stiles is reminded of Derek and Paige, who seemed to have held their breath for how still they are. He clears his throat, embarrassed at his lapse. “I uh, I should get this over with. See you guys tomorrow?” 

 

Derek and Paige make agreeing noises, wishing him goodnight, and Stiles has gathered his shopping bags and has his hand on the door latch, when Peter catches his left wrist in a soft grip. He freezes, heart suddenly beating wild in his throat, going warm all over at the sudden contact. 

 

Peter leans closer over the center console, so close that Stiles can scent the exciting mix that is  _ PeterAlpha _ , and his breath catches. “Text me later?” The Alpha asks in a low murmur, eyes hooded. Stiles can only nod, speechless. Peter releases his wrist and for a second Stiles thinks that’s it, but then Peter lifts his hand, sneaks it to the back of Stiles head, cradling his neck, and  _ ohmygodwhatishedoingishegoingtokissme _ \- tucks the label that has been sticking out back into his shirt.

 

Having done that, Peter leans back with a smirk. “You shouldn’t let your friend wait too long.” He makes a little shooing motion.

 

Stiles can only whisper “Oh my god you are such a jerk.” in a sort of breathless  exasperation, wide eyed and blushing at the sheer nerve of him. At having thought - _ hoped _ \- Fumbling with the door latch he spills out onto the sidewalk before he can finish that line of thinking.

 

Still reeling he waves a little dumbly after the car. Every nerve in his body is thrumming with nervous energy and all he can think of is Peter being so close and  _ what if _ \- 

 

“Stiles?” 

 

Scott’s voice is jarring. Stiles whips around and every thought of Peter gets shoved (with great reluctance) to the back of his mind. “Scott,” he nods, weary. He doesn’t want to do this, but seems like he’s all out of luck. Better man up then and do this right. “Look, I know we should talk. Why don’t we go inside-”

 

“Oh, now you want to talk? Sure didn’t feel like you wanted to talk the last two and a half weeks to me.” Scott is scowling. “You know what? How about you shut up for a second. I know that’s hard for you because you do  _ nothing else _ , all  ‘Scott this’ and ‘Scott that’ -”

 

“Or we do this here on the front lawn, why not,” Stiles sighs,

 

“- but when I want to talk to you, you don’t listen at all. And then suddenly you are not talking to me at all, ignoring me. What is up with you, god dammit?!” Scott is yelling now and Stiles didn’t want to do this like this, but hearing Scott say it like that, like Stiles is the one being a shit friend, it makes him snap.

 

“I’m not listening?!?” He snarls back, furious. “You are the one who only wants to talk about Allison fucking Argent. I get it, she’s great. Thats awesome for you, but there are things I do not need to know.” The plastic straps of his shopping bags are digging into the skin of his hand, he’s gripping them so hard in his anger. “You want to know what is up? I’m tired of being ignored by you when Allison is around.”

 

“So what, are you saying it’s Allison’s fault?” If Scott was angry before, he’s looking enraged now at the perceived sleight of Allsion. Shoulders thrown back he stands up to his full height, trying his best to loom over Stiles. “What the fuck, I thought you were my friend. You’re just what, jealous?” He gets a mean look on his face, something alien, that Stiles has never seen before on his best friend. “Just because you fail at wooing and will probably never get anyone to give you the time of the day doesn’t mean you have to act like an asshole!”

 

And that hurts, coming from Scott who was there when Lydia crushed his heart beneath her 4.5  inch heels with an icy glare, and then when Danny snapped at him after months of fruitlessly trying to get his attention. But the hurt only makes him angrier, because Scott has no right to try and use that as ammunition against him.

 

“Fuck you.” Snarling Stiles lets the shopping bags drop as he pushes Scott away before getting all up in his face, spitting with barely contained fury. “I don’t care about Allison. I care about you, my best friend! But lately I get the feeling that’s not mutual. You weren’t even there when I needed you!”

 

“Oh yeah? Well you seem to manage just fine with your new friends.” Scott sneers and grabs his wrist to hold it up and shake it. “It’s pathetic that you let an older Alpha get his hands all over you. You're so easy for it, that it's barely any work for him, huh? You know that's the only reason he's paying you attention.” 

 

With a jolt Stiles sees red. He flattens his hand and twists it around, forcing Scott to release his grip and shoves him back to get his message across. “Fuck you for saying that, Scott. I thought you were better than sinking low enough to insult my omega status. You don't get to comment on this or Peter, not after everything! And unlike you, Derek and Paige are fully functional human beings even when they are five feet in range of each other and they don’t mutate to single minded idiots. You should leave now, before you say anything else you will regret,” he hisses. 

 

“Stiles-”

 

“I won’t tell you again. Leave.”

 

Finally Scott gets the hint and leaves, though not without another pouty glare. Stiles stares menacing after him, making sure the Alpha really leaves, before he gathers his bags and goes inside.

 

His dad is working late again, so he’s greeted with silence. Still pissed he takes great pleasure in banging the door behind him and stomping extra loudly up the stairs. Only when he’s in his room and lying on his bed does he allow himself to scream into his pillow. Why does Scott always have to be such an idiot? If he would just take a minute to really listen to him and think about what he’s doing… But it’s hopeless. Scott only hears what he wants to hear, he’s made that clear enough.  

 

Stiles hits his pillow in frustration and groans.What a shitshow. He wants it all out of his head, but he can’t help obsess over everything. If maybe he could have worded it better and made Scott understand. He can't stop replaying what Scott said.

 

Before he can think about it, he leans over the side of the bed and fishes his phone from where he had flung it to the floor with the rest of his belongings. He bites his lip, fingers hovering over Peter’s contact. He hits the dial button.

 

“Hello Stiles. How did your talk with Scott go?” Peter inquires with a cheerfulness that is belied by the fact that he had answered the call before the second ring. The thought of Peter sitting at home with his phone already in hand, waiting for Stiles to text him, suddenly makes him choke up with an onslaught of feelings. Scott can’t be right. Stiles doesn’t want him to be. He has to take a few deep breaths to work out what he wants to say.

 

“Stiles?” Peter sounds concerned now, and Stiles. He has to know.

 

“Is this- Are you...Are you doing this because I’m easy?” He closes his eyes, wincing at the waver in his voice. 

 

The phone is silent for long agonizing seconds and Stiles curls up on top of the comforter, phones pressed to his ear.

 

“No.” The words are forceful, when they finally, finally, come. “No, Stiles, you are not easy.”

 

Stiles shudders out the breath he had unconsciously held in relief and presses his free hand against his eyes. It’s pathetic how much he needed to hear these words. Peter’s not finished though.

 

“I like you. I won’t lie, I like how delightfully you blush, nevermind how much I like the thought of being your first,” he says, voice slipping deeper, and it makes Stiles breathless for different reasons. He uselessly hides his red face against the comforter.

 

“Being my first what?” He manages to mumble, wants to hear it, hear every word out of Peter’s mouth.

 

“Everything,” the Alpha growls and Stiles squirms.

 

“But I also like the way you talk, how you won’t back down, how you keep up with me. I want to make everyone know you’re  _ mine _ .” 

 

Unbidden, Stiles mind flashes back to the car and Peter’s hand on his neck. He feels hot all over, wants to feel it again. Thinks about Peter’s scent on him, claiming him, and considers never touching a shower again.

 

“I would like that,” he whispers, “very much.”


	2. Bonus 1 - Scott

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his argument with Stiles, Scott rants at Allison who wants him to apologize. Things don't really go his way.

There’s an insistent knocking on the front door. Stiles doesn’t want to leave his warm cocoon of blankets yet and his dad is home, so he doesn’t. After talking the entire night with Peter on the phone, it still feels too soon to be up. He’s drifting off again, when his dad calls his name. With a groan he throws the blankets off and shuffles into the corridor to see who it is.

 

When he realizes that it’s Allison and Scott who are standing on the porch he has to smother another groan. What is this, did Scott bring Allison so she could yell at him too? He ignores his dad’s questioning frown and greets them warily. “What do you want?” he asks Scott, because if the Alpha wants to make even more of a spectacle of himself he will go back upstairs and let his dad deal with it.

 

But it’s Allison who answers him. “Scott is an idiot and he wants to apologize,” she says. Stiles raises his eyebrows in surprise and looks at Scott who looks more sullen than apologetic and like he doesn’t want to be here at all. 

 

There’s a moment where nobody says anything. Even his dad is silent, though he must be curious as to what is going on. When the silence goes on too long, Allison jabs an elbow into Scott’s side and gives him a meaningful look. It looks painful but Stiles can’t find it in himself to dreg up even a sliver of sympathy.

 

Scott gives her a pout, full of hurt betrayal, but Allison doesn’t relent. Finally he speaks. “Sorry for yelling yesterday.”

 

Stiles waits, but that’s it. That’s the entirety of Scott’s apology. He throws his arms into the air and looks incredulously around. Allison looks ready to murder her boyfriend. He shakes his head at Scott. “You think it’s the yelling you have to be sorry about? Did you listen to a word I said?”

 

“Well it’s not as if any of it is true,” Scott says indignant. To Allison he whines, “I told you it would be useless.”

 

Allison stares. “Are you serious?”

 

“He is. Believe me, I tried.” Stiles tells her. She shakes her head in bewilderment. “You always told me that Stiles doesn’t want to do things with us,” she says slowly to Scott, who nods, earnestly. With a smile he takes her limp hand in his, a complete 180 degree turnaround to his attitude a few seconds ago. “He would have been jealous,” he tells her. 

 

“Dude.” Stiles shakes his head at a loss for words.

 

Allison looks down at their joined hands and up into Scott’s besotted smiling face. “You don’t see anything wrong with that?” She asks. Scotts confused little frown is answer enough. “I did it for you, so he didn’t make you uncomfortable.” he says and cocks his head to the side like a dog who waits to be praised after he did a particularly difficult trick.

 

Gently she disentangles their fingers. “Scott,” she says, pauses, searching for words, “Everyone knows that Stiles is you best friend. I wanted to be his friend, too, because I knew that he’s important to you. But your priorities are so skewered, I don’t even know where to begin and you don’t even want to see when you are wrong.”

 

“What do you mean?” Scott is confused.

 

“That means that I can’t trust you to place me first when the next best thing comes along if you can’t even do that with your best friend of ten years.” Allison sighs. “Goodbye, Scott. I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

 

To Stiles she says, “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.” With that she turns around and starts walking. 

 

Scott starts. “Wait! Where are you going, Allison?!” He moves like he wants to run after her, but Stiles’ dad snatches his shirt and holds him back.

“I don’t think so, son. She was very clear that she doesn’t want to see you anymore, I think. Why don’t you come inside and tell me exactly what you all were talking about?” His voice brooks no protest.


	3. Bonus 2 - That time of the month again....

Stiles is lying on the couch, his head making him feel like he’s dying. It’s that time of the month again, only this feels like it’s five times as bad. He’s felt miserable for days now, dragging himself to school and home again. Yesterday finally got so bad he didn’t get much further than downstairs before he admitted defeat and curled up on the couch. 

 

Derek and Paige came after school to visit him and while it distracted him a little from his aching body it only made him miss the person he wanted most at the moment. Peter had been back to college for two weeks and while they talked every day over skype it just wasn’t the same.

 

He knows that his dad, who had not been amused when he had found about them, is glad for the distance between them, but for Stiles it’s torture. He had ample time to get used to the constant touching and little affections Peter bestowed upon him when he thought no one was looking.

 

That’s what he misses the most right now.

 

Instead he has to content himself with his dad, who had called in from work so he could take care of Stiles today. It’s a good thing, Stiles tries to tell himself. Just not the  _ best _ . He sighs.

 

“How are you feeling kiddo?” his dad asks and lays a warm hand on his shoulder. 

“Like dying,” he whimpers.

 

“It will get better soon, you’ll see.” He gives his shoulder a consoling pat. “Try to take a nap, see if that helps. I’m gonna head out for a while, grocery shopping.”

 

Stiles mumbles his acknowledgement into the couch cushion and lets his thoughts drift while he listens to the noises his dad makes during his departure. 

 

He must indeed have dozed off, because he wakes up with a start when he hears a loud clatter from the kitchen. “Whatssit? Dad?” He blearily calls. Soft curses are his only answer and he cranes his head to try and look over the back of the couch. The movement makes a sharp pain lance through his skull though, and he sags back with a groan, closing his eyes. The cursing in the kitchen stops abruptly.

 

“Hey,” a voice whispers above him and he opens his eyes in shock. “Peter?!” he yelps. Even that makes him wince in pain though, and the fond smirk slips from Peter’s face, replaced by a worried frown. “That bad, huh?” he asks and crouches down next to the couch and tenderly smoothes down Stiles’ hair.  

 

Stiles eagerly leans into the touch, nuzzling the hand, happy hat  _ his _ alpha is here, and hums an affirmative. Peter snorts. “Budge over,” he says, nudging him softly with his hand. 

 

Grumbling, Stiles does as he’s told, and Peter squeezes himself onto the narrow space on the couch. It takes a moment of coordinating any stray limbs and he might have kneed Peter accidentally, in the chaos. The momentary discomfort is well worth it when at last they are lying side by side, Stiles spooned by his Alpha and safely enclosed in his arms.

 

He takes a deep breath, revelling in the familiar scent of Peter, feeling soothed at once. He has the feeling that he can relax the first time in days, like this.

 

They lie like that for a few long minutes, just enjoying each other’s presence until Stiles rouses himself enough to ask Peter why he’s here.

 

“Don’t you have classes today?” He peers at the alpha, curious. Peter is playing with his hair now, and it’s as distracting as it feels good, massaging leftover tension out he didn’t know he had. He shrugs a little, answering,  “Derek told me yesterday that you were looking worse off than the time I got you from school. Didn’t want you to be alone if you were so miserable.” 

 

Stiles doesn’t point out that he’s not alone. He has his dad, and Derek and Paige. (Not Scott though, who blames Stiles for his break up with Allison) Instead, he smiles at Peter and rubs his nose against his, steals a little kiss and closes his eyes again, content. 

 

Because that’s how he felt, too, until Peter came to him, isn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Stiles, why are there muffins all over the kitchen - what is Peter doing here?!”
> 
> “Whoops,” Peter murmurs, “forgot all about these when I heard you.” Stiles has to smother his giggles in Peter’s shoulder at that.


End file.
